Faded Glory and a Bottle of Rum
by Silver Miko
Summary: NorringtonOC. His commission is gone, his life faded away and all he has left is a bottle of rum in his hand, but the last thing James Norrington expected was a fiancee that was not Elizabeth Swann.
1. Chapter 1

FADED GLORY AND A BOTTLE OF RUM

by Silver Miko

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I.

Staring at the sea, the purest of all aqua color ever to be seen by an Englishmen, the soon to be former Commodore James Norrington sat on the lush green cliff. He tore his gaze from the powerful mistress that ruled his life so thoroughly and stared at the dusky colored glass bottle in his hand.

Rum. How ironic.

The prized ambrosia of the filthy mongrels he had gained reputation for purging from the Caribbean was now his only ally and fleeting comfort.

He never anticipated that storm. He should have never given Sparrow a day's head start only to lose his ship and men to the fatal tempest of storm and sea. He should have turned when the skies darkened, he new from experience that the sea was a harsh mistress indeed that bent its will to no one.

Lifting the bottle to dry lips, he let the burning spicy liquid linger before swallowing. The temporary warmth and numbness was utterly welcome, even if he knew it did not change his circumstances.

He had failed to an extraordinary degree. His actions in a moment of selflessness, moments that so often ruled his life, had indirectly held him responsible for conspiracy and even worse- treason in the aiding and abedding of a wanted criminal.

His career was lost, his freedom possibly, and the woman he had fancied as a most suitable match. Oh another selfless action, releasing her to the one she truly loved. Miss Elizabeth Swann, so beautiful and so suprising fierce in character, had never chosen him in her heart- a position belonging to Mr. William Turner. Had he paid closer attention over the years he would have observed the silent affections that had harbored betwixt the two since their meeting at sea. Yet he was blindsided by his own foolish pride. Of course Elizabeth would have chosen him! He was a Commodore, the youngest Commodore in the British Navy, and was rising in regards and rank rapidly. Of course she would come to see the perfection of their match. Such naive thoughts.

In truth, he had spent most of his life away from the female sex. Having gone to Eton and then Cambridge and then immediately enlisted, he had spent little time in the company of women outside family and friends and it was to say, something of a distress to him that he found himself so assured and capable in several other regards- yet women were the one thing that left him unsure and nervous. Maybe had he more experience he wouldn't have been so blindsided.

He took another swig of the rum, the memory of his initial proposal to Elizabeth taunting him. At the ceremony in his honor where he was hoping to make it a happy day on all regards...how silly the other men would have found him to hear him stuttering in the presence of a woman. That was the day that it all went astray. Since then any moment in the same space as a woman resulted in blatant indifference and at times even an extreme coldness. Heartbreak would do that to a man.

Now here he was, of all places, Tortuga. A place that was brimming with all the sorts he was against. He still wore his uniform, but it was stained and crumpling, his white wig dirty and in need of grooming. His face was badly needing shaving, now marked with the formings of a rough beard. He looked as washed up as he felt.

He didn't care. What was the point in keeping up the appearance of good decorum for whores and pirates?

The sun would set soon. It would melt like a ball of wax, bleeding yellow, orange, and red on the horizon and sinking into sea until it permeated and darkened to the velvet night. There would be stars shimmering across the night sky like scattered jewels, a pale pearl of moon illuminating it all.

He always had loved the stars- fascinated with the mythical tales behind them and the factual navigational function of them. Anyone who tied their fate with the sea learned quickly the reliance of the stars, but he could no longer find the right stars to direct his path. No mapped pattern of constellation to lead him to his life as it were.

He was disgraced as far as the navy was concerned, shunned for his foolish behavior.

If only he had been the one to go into the rectory instead of his brother Peter. As was the way of things since his eldest brother Charles was a viscount, he and his brother were expected to either pursue a life in the church or the military. Peter chose the church, having always been the most pious. He had chosen the navy, having always been in love with the sea.

It would surprise most to learn that as a child James Norrington was a dreamer. He dreamed of sea gods and sea nymphs, mermaids and sea creatures. Wondrous things that filled his imagination as he would play at the beach during summers in Brighton and Cornwall. His father merely shrugged it off, figuring he would grow out of it and his mother would often spend time with him at the beach or on days when it rained sketch for him the creatures in his story. By the time he was in his teens he did indeed outgrow that part of his life, but would still indulge his mother every now and then in sharing a story with her. It was she he always missed most when thinking of England. He did not want to think of her reaction when news of his disgrace reached her. Her little dreamer, her smart and brilliant James.

James Norrington did not dream anymore.

Across the waters that bled the pure aqua and darkened into dark blue that easily masked itself as grey, another sat staring out the window at the London skyline. Hands folded unmoving in a lap of skirts and petticoats, the young woman stood motionless like a painting that hung the walls of the Mayfair townhouse. Eyes the color of the seas across the world were fixated on the night sky.

Spinster. That damning word had been on the tongue of her father tonight, souring what would have been a rather nice family dinner. Yes, she had a few seasons come and go and she wasn't a young debutante anymore, but she felt it was too soon for that description to be fixed to her name.

Sure, she had been foolish in her younger years and spurned many suitors whom she found unsuitable, but now it was becomming difficult to find a match. She was almost twenty-four now and it was less likely she would marry, for after all with three more sisters two already out and one due to come out soon her dowry wasn't such a great sum. In fact, her parents went to great lengths to put on the airs of wealth when really they were of a fortune (or lack there of) that was enough to sustain the family with some scrimping and financing.

She wasn't unattractive, it would be unfair to say that. She was a few inches shorter than most ladies, and her complexion not the pale peaches of cream that was so sought after but a touch more golden. She did not posess the golden ringlets that synonimized beauty, but rather had light auburn hair that only held a curl every so often with success. She was pretty in an unconventional way.

She knew how to keep polite conversation and the rules of etiquette and propiety, but sometimes could not keep check on her temper or annoyance when something crossed her a great deal and so she became unfortunately known for having an occasional acerbic tongue and unpleasant disposition. Even a rare instance was enough, she learned, to attach itself to her reputation.

None the less.

It wasn't her lack of suit this evening that prompted her father's use of the spinster description, it was news that her father had taken it upon himself to make a match for her- with a man who was not even in town nor the country but the Caribbean. Apparently an old accquaintance of her father's had a son who was thinking of matrimony and the woman he had made an offer to sadly had decided to marry another. When her father mentioned he had a daughter who would make a good match for his son, the matter became decided just like that.

It vexed her to have her life decided just like that, but then that was how these things went really.

She had thought the matter over more, in the solace of her room, hours later. She really couldn't refuse, it would be a dishonorable thing to do even if she had never herself consented. Her father mentioned his friend's son was a naval officer, high in ranks, which would mean he would be at sea most of the time and the position of a naval officer's wife was a good one.

It was, honestly, an agreeable solution to someone with no other prospects and it would be interesting and even thrilling to see the islands she had only heard about.

Preparations would begin soon she suspected, for she would have to journey to meet her intended husband (who surely would be too busy to return to Enlgand) on the heels of a letter sent to him. She had to admit it was rather underhanded of her father and his friend- sending a letter meant to arrive only days before her. Her intended would have no other choice but to follow through, especially a man of such high caliber and honor.

So it would go, and Amelia Wickhamshire would it seemed be on quite an adventure.

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A note on the Caribbean!

Five years ago my family vacation for a few days in Jamaica in Boscobol, which was great except for me getting sun poisoning, having a HUGE Chinese Culture exam five days later (at that point my grades was lower than I liked so I needed to do well) and not actually getting to go out and explore the area/towns. Resort only, with no one around since it was October. And I mean no one. There were four other families there, and only one other person except my brother in my age range. And 90 degrees at lowest and oh so humid. But the water is _so_ clear and so truly aqua and so warm and clean feeling compared to the lake near my house (dare to get strep by swimming?) and the colder, more grey colored Atlantic of the East Coast.

There were a lot of trees that looked like the ones here, but a lusher and greener beauty. Old Spanish churches and roads of rich red, palm trees and lush jungle hills painted the scenery of the three hour bus drive from the airport at Montego Bay to Boscobol (so I probably saw the coast of half the island)

It was really cool to see it before I would end up seeing the similar visions in PoTC: Black Pearl a year later.

Being of always living in New England, I could imagine the feeling Norrington might have had upon seeing Jamaica for the first time and the Caribbean Sea in all its aquamarine glory.

And ironically due to the events of that vacation I actually note the Jamaica trip as one of the worst vacations I'd ever been on. I think it was just being with my family and the circumstances that made it a less enjoyable time for me. I think if I were to ever be motivated again I would plot out a more exciting trip. But honestly the sea was the best part. It's really so beautiful.


	2. Chapter 2

Faded Glory and a Bottle of Rum

Chapter II

If one wanted to shed the skin of a former life like a snake, if one wanted to forget thier problems by drowning them under gallons of rum, if one needed escape...Tortuga was the place. A veritable den on iniquity, as long as you had the right amount of coin your desires could be slated (be they drink or a willing body) and if you were smart or dodgy enough you could escape a tussle with but a scratch or bruise or broken nose.

In such a place in a dingy, indifferent tavern that well reflected the decorum of its inhabitants, sat one such soul who fell into one of the categories of Tortuga's natives. Beneath the mud caking his boots was the hint of once polished leather, beneath the dust one could almost discern what were once fine naval clothes, beneath the tanned skin and rough beard was still the ghost of a man who once had the world on his side and life by the reigns.

James Norrington had learned after a couple of days to stop staring at his reflection upon the surface of whatever spirits he was constantly pouring down his throat. He couldn't bring himself to stop and think which would give him cause to mourn more- the rough looking man in the present reflection, or the ghost of the man that was.

The baudy din around him seemed to never end, and yet there were moments it all stilled into a kind of silence when he had moments of remembrence, moments he tortured himself with and yet could not stop as much as he could stop a cough or a sneeze or a blink. Close your eyes a brief flutter, see the life that once was. If he could, he would let his eyes dry to dust if it meant not to blink as such.

The worst, the moments in which he wondered if it would truly hurt to cut out his own broken heart, were when he could hear _her_ voice in his head. A teasing whisper, a barbed carress.

_Commodore..._

_Please, as a wedding gift!_

_Commodore Norrington..._

_James..._

She had only ever spoken his Christian name twice in the eight years of their accquaintanceship (such a mild term to describe the cause of such chaos!), once as a child upon their first introduction (in which he politely told her it was more proper to call him Lieutentant Norrington) and once on her fifteenth birthday to thank him for his gift, which he couldn't even recall what is was. Only that she truly liked it.

If he had known when he met the little ten year old freckled governor's daughter the mass upheaval she would end up causing to his life he would have severed all ties the moment they docked onshore in Jamaica.

Fraility, thy name is woman.

There was, James reflected, something indeed in that statement.

Amelia groaned for what must've been the hundredth time that afternoon, and was sure her complexion would remain a green-tinged pallor. She was told it would take a while for her to get sea-legs, but it had been a little over a month and while the sea sickness was not as severe she still could not be completely comfortable. She missed a more consistent availability of fresh water and her hair was some sort of laughable imitation of a fashionable coif.

She had to wonder how her betrothed could stand life on the sea, or any man in the navy for that matter. Perhaps men had more constitution when it came to sea travel, or one got used to it. As the boat rocked suddenly through a small patch of rough water she steadied herself as to not fall.

"_I do believe I will have no luck getting used to this." _

"Miss Wickhamshire, are you well?"

She turned to see Captain Barclay approaching. He was a tall man with light brown hair that was beginning to recede and kind brown eyes. Her passage to Jamaica was on board the HMS Excelsior, which was carrying other passengers on their way to the Caribbean as well as naval officers on assignment.

"Yes Captain, thank you."

"It is a difficult journey for one so unused to this kind of travel."

"Yes, I have wondered how anyone tolerates it."

Captain Barclay smiled.

"The call of sea is a siren's song to many a man, Miss Wickhamshire. The sound of the waves and the salty scent is to many a sign of freedom. It is one thing to stand on land and look at the sea, but entirely another to be at sea and her capricious nature."

"And mercy."

"Indeed, the sea can be the most cruel of mistresses but also the most rewarding. I myself could not imagine any other lifestyle, and if it is not too improper a subject, I must say I do believe your fiancee is of the same mind."

"Commodore Norrington?"

"Yes. I recall serving with him when he had just been made Lieutentant years ago before he was commissioned to Port Royal. As you would imagine we often talked of the sea."

Amelia bit her lip slightly and tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear.

"Captain, what sort of man is the Commodore? I honestly was not told much about him with the exception of his name and rank."

"Well, what I remember of James Norrington was that he was an honest man with an accute sense of justice. He was immaculate at following the rules, we would often remark the man was born to be a naval officer. He was always reading whenever we were given any free time and was rather good with astral navigation. He could easily be mistaken for a severe and somber man, but then I always felt that was on the surface. He's really quite the gentleman and good man."

"Do you think he would make a fine husband?"

"I do believe he would, in fact I think a wife would also do him some good. It can be a very lonely life as an officer."

"Are you married, Captain?"

"Me? No, I fear I am quite married to the sea but it is what I have chosen. If you will excuse me I must return to the helm."

She nodded and looked out the horizon.

It was a comfort, she thought, that she had been given some sense of the man. She hoped he would find their match agreeable, for if anything, she was not prepared to so hastily make another two month journey at sea.

James Norrington was on an unknown number of drink when he noticed a type of happening to a corner of the tavern. Through his spirit-blurred gaze he saw the shape of man who was strikingly familiar. His feet somehow made their way closer and he found himself in a short line of three or four men, heard them answer some rather unimportant questions and as it was his turn he found himself facing table and the oh so familiar salt and pepper head of Joshamee Gibbs bent to scrawl on a piece of parchment.

"And what's your story?" his rough asked, head still bent.

James paused, feeling the haze clear a little and a surprisingly welcome wave of bitterness wash through him.

"My story? It's the exact same as yours, just one chapter behind."

He wondered where he managed to find such an accurate and poetic statement in the still muddled thoughts running through his head.

The rest of the conversation was a blur, Gibbs shock as his run-down state, calling him crazy or something to that extent for running into the hurricane.

It wasn't until he found himself aiming a pistol at Jack Sparrow that he was truly cognizant of what was happening.

"Sorry, old habits and all."

And then everything exploded into chaos.


End file.
